Читать книгу All Fall Down - Erica Spindler, Erica Spindler - Страница 12

When Melanie and Casey arrived home an hour and a half later, after a quick stop for fast food, they found Ashley waiting for them. Melanie wasn’t surprised to see her. A drug company rep, her territory the Carolinas, she often dropped by Melanie’s on her way back into town.

“Look who’s here, Casey,” Melanie said, drawing to a stop in the driveway. “Aunt Ashley.”

McDonald’s Kid’s Meal forgotten, the child bolted out of the car the moment Melanie got his safety buckle undone. “Aunt Ashley! Look what I got from Aunt Mia! A megaman!”

Melanie smiled as she watched her son launch himself into her sister’s outstretched arms. Her sisters had always been the most important people in her life and their love for Casey warmed her heart.

Melanie collected her purse and the Kid’s Meal, then crossed to the two. “Hey, sis, have a productive trip?”

Ashley lifted Casey, propping him on her hip, then turned to Melanie. She smiled. “You know pharmaceutical sales—drugs, the wave of the present.”

Melanie laughed. Her sister was a paradox. Although extremely successful at what she did, she was a believer in natural and holistic healing. Whenever one of them got sick, she suggested herbs, roots and teas instead of one of the miracle drugs she made a living selling.

They climbed the front steps to the house. “You could have let yourself in. Less mosquitoes.”

“I know.” She hiked Casey higher on her hip. “But it was too pretty a night to wait inside.”

Melanie unlocked the door and flipped on the foyer light. They made their way to the kitchen, turning on lights as they went. It was a small house, a cottage really, with two bedrooms, family room and kitchen. Though it would practically fit in the master-bedroom suite of her ex-husband’s home, Melanie loved it. In her opinion, what it lacked in size, it made up for in charm. Located in one of Whistlestop’s older neighborhoods, it had an abundance of windows, hardwood floors throughout and high ceilings.

And best of all, she had paid for it herself, no help from her ex or anybody else.

“Did you eat?” she asked her sister as she got Casey settled at the breakfast counter. “I was going to throw together a salad. I have enough for two.”

“Thanks, but I’ll pass.” She shrugged out of her suit jacket and draped it over the back of a chair. “I had a late lunch with a doctor.”

Melanie glanced at her sister and frowned, noticing how thin she looked. Slightly taller than her and Mia’s medium height, Ashley had also been blessed with a more curvaceous build. Tonight, however, her tailored trousers seemed to hang on her. “Have you been ill?” she asked.

“No. Why?” “You look thin.”

Ashley cocked an eyebrow. “Compared to what? The way I usually look?” “No, silly. Too thin.”

“There’s no such thing.” She crossed to the refrigerator. “Have any cold beer?”

“Think so. Help yourself.” Melanie unwrapped her son’s cheeseburger, laid it and his bag of French fries on a plate and set it in front of him, snitching a fry as she did.

“Juice, Mom.”

“Milk,” she countered. “Then juice if you’re still thirsty.”

Casey only grumbled a bit—he knew it would be a losing battle—and dug into his burger. Melanie poured him the milk, then retrieved the salad fixings from the refrigerator. “You heard about Joli Andersen?”

“On the radio.” Ashley poured a beer into a chilled mug, took a sip and made a sound of appreciation. “Nothing like an ice-cold beer at the end of a long, hard day.”

Melanie grinned. “You sound like a commercial.”

“I do, don’t I? Maybe I missed my calling.” She took another sip, then set the glass on the counter. “So, tell me about today.”

Melanie tore off a hunk of iceberg lettuce, washed and patted it dry, and began ripping it into pieces over her bowl. “What do you want to know?”

“Just the basics. You know, was it really gruesome? Did you kick major CMPD butt? If you ruined your shoes when you threw up.” The last she said with a laugh, but at Melanie’s expression, brought a hand to her mouth. “Oh, Mel, I was just teasing. You didn’t really—”

“Totally humiliate myself? Try again. I puked my guts out in front of everybody.”

“Oh, sis, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay, I—” A lump formed in her throat, and she cleared it. “It was the worst thing I’ve ever seen, Ash. And to everyone else it was … no big deal. Business as usual, I guess.”

She began peeling a cucumber, no longer because she wanted to eat but for something to do with her hands. “They talked about what happened to that poor girl so cavalierly. With so little, I don’t know, care. That’s what finally did it. Until then I was holding it together, focusing on the job.”

Ashley gave her a quick hug. “Tossed cookies or not, I know you were great. My sister, Super Cop.”

Melanie smiled and shook her head. More than anyone else, Ashley had supported her decision to become a police officer. She had always seemed to understand not just Melanie’s want to do it, but her need to as well. “I’ll tell you this, Ash, the work was fascinating. There was this guy at the scene, a profiler with the FBI. The way he worked was amaz—”

“Mom, what’s the FBI?”

Melanie looked at her son, realizing not only that he had been listening, but that he was fascinated. “It’s a law enforcement agency, honey. A big, important one.”

“That’s what I thought.” He stuffed a French fry into his mouth. “Are you talking about that lady?”

Melanie frowned. “What lady?”

“The one who was muttered.”

Murdered. “What do you know about that?”

“I heard Aunt Mia talking with my teacher.”

Ashley made a sound of disgust and Melanie glanced at her son’s plate—it was clean save for the pickles he’d peeled off his burger and a hunk of the bun. “Honey, are you finished?”

He nodded, then yawned. “Can I watch TV now?”

She leaned across the counter and wiped his mouth with a napkin, feeling a pinch of guilt at having kept him up so late. “Sorry, sweetie, time to hit the sack. It’s already thirty minutes past your bedtime.”

“But Mom—” he dragged the words out, part plea, part whine “—I’m not tired.”

“I’m sure you’re not, but it’s still your bedtime.” She helped him off the tall stool and nudged him toward the door. “Tell your Aunt Ashley good-night.”

Casey did as she asked, managing to wheedle the promise of three bedtime stories from her before they cleared the kitchen.

Melanie glanced apologetically at her sister. “Be right back.”

Ashley smiled. “No problem. I’ll be here.”

When Melanie returned to the kitchen fifteen minutes later, she found Ashley standing at the sink, staring out the window above it, her expression almost unbearably sad.

Melanie took a step toward her, concerned. “Ash? You okay?”

Her sister turned, expression lifting. “Sure. Our little tiger asleep?”

“Not yet. He was so revved up.” She frowned. “I can’t believe I was so indiscreet earlier, talking about my work that way. He was listening to everything we said. I have to be more careful what I say around him, he’s not a baby anymore.”

“Sounds as if our sister and his teacher have to be more careful as well.” Ashley plucked a chunk of cucumber from Melanie’s salad bowl. “Now, tell me more about this FBI guy?”

“The way he worked was fascinating, that’s all. He looked at the crime scene, analyzed it, then drew a conclusion about what had happened. I found it nothing short of amazing.”

Ashley grinned. “Goodbye dog-poop patrol, hello homicide.”

Melanie thought of all the calls she had taken from citizens irate over a neighbor’s dog pooping in their yard, or trampling their flowers, or chasing their cat up a tree; she thought of all the traffic tickets she had issued and of how she had longed to do real police work. Now, finally, she had her chance.

But at what cost?

She looked at her sister, feeling guilty. “Being so grateful for this murder makes me feel like an awful person. You know what I mean?”

“Don’t be a dork.” Ashley reached around her and helped herself to a baby carrot. “You had nothing to do with Joli Andersen’s murder.”

“I know, I just—” She sighed and reached for the bell pepper. “One thing I already know, when this case is solved it’s going to be difficult to return to business as usual around the WPD.”

Ashley made a face. “You wouldn’t be stuck in that rinky-dink department if not for that bastard you married. Someone needs to teach that prick a lesson.”

“Ashley!” Melanie glanced over her shoulder toward the family room and bedrooms beyond. “First off, watch your language. Casey could hear. Second, remember, Stan is Casey’s dad.”

“And that’s the only reason we let him live.”

“Very funny.” Melanie sprinkled grated cheese on her salad, then held the bag out to her sister.

Ashley helped herself to some of the cheddar-jack. “I can’t help it, Mel. I hate him for keeping you out of the CMPD academy. That was your dream for as long as I can remember, and he stole it.”

“The Whistlestop force isn’t the CMPD, but I’m still doing police work.” She crossed to the refrigerator for the salad dressing, choosing Italian. A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “Which is a constant thorn in Stan’s side. He can’t stand the idea of the great Stan May’s ex-wife being a cop. The fact that I wear a uniform drives him nuts. I love when I’m wearing it and run into one of his colleagues’ wives.” She laughed. “They always look horrified.”

The truth was, she disliked the uniform almost as much as Stan did, and not because it was unflattering and too masculine, but because it identified her as a small-time, small-town cop. In the WPD, unlike the Charlotte/Mecklenburg force, there was no such thing as working “plainclothes.” Her chief wanted his force to be immediately recognizable to the community and for citizens to see his officers out and about, all the time.

She drizzled dressing over the salad. “Besides, who knows what the future might bring? If I distinguish myself in the WPD, I don’t think Stan’s influence with the CMPD will be as likely to keep me out. That’s why it’s so important for me not only to be working this murder, but for me to help solve it. Just taking up space isn’t going to cut it.”

“It never does.” Ashley’s smile faded. “Sounds like you have it all figured out. Of course, you always have.”

At the quiver in her sister’s voice, Melanie frowned. “So have you, Ash. You’ve always gone after what you wanted, what you believed in with heart and soul. It’s only Mia …” Melanie let the thought trail off, thinking of her other sister, of the predicament she had gotten herself into.

Melanie sighed. “You haven’t talked to Mia in a while, have you?”

“At least a week. Since our last coffee klatch.” Ashley drew her eyebrows together. “Why? What’s wrong?”

The salad that a moment ago had looked so appetizing suddenly lost its appeal. Melanie laid down her fork and shoved the bowl aside. “Boyd hit her,” she said, then filled Ashley in on her and Mia’s conversation.

Angry color sprang to Ashley’s cheeks. “That bastard! What did she do?”

“Take a guess.”

“Nothing, right? Because she’s scared.”

“You got it.” With a sound of distress, Melanie stood and crossed to the window. She stared out at the night for a moment, then turned back to her sister. “What are we going to do?”

“What can we do?” Ashley lifted a shoulder. “It’s her marriage, Mel.”

“But he’s hitting her! We can’t allow it.”

“She’s the one who’s allowing it. Not us.”

“How can you say that?” Melanie shook her head, angered by her sister’s attitude. “You know how dangerous this is for her. It would be for any of us, because of our pasts. All three of us are susceptible to the victim mentality and to being sucked into a relationship of escalating abuse.”

“Speak for yourself.” Ashley plucked another wedge of cucumber out of Melanie’s salad and popped it into her mouth. “Our father was a monster. But he’s dead now and I’m over it.”

“Right. That’s why you steer as far away from men and relationships as possible.”

Ashley narrowed her eyes. “This isn’t about me and my dating habits.”

“No, it’s about helping our sister. Something you don’t seem interested in doing.”

For a moment, Ashley was completely still. Then she rose to her feet. Melanie saw that she was shaking. “I love our sister as much as you do, Melanie, so don’t you even think about going there.”

“I wasn’t suggesting—”

“Yeah, you were. In your way.” Ashley looked her straight in the eyes. “You want the truth? You’ve made her too dependent. You’re always taking care of her, rushing in to save the day. You’ve been doing it since we were kids. What does she expect you to do this time? End her marriage for her? Arrest him? Shoot to kill?”

“Very funny, Ash.”

“I’m not laughing. You’ve got to let her grow up.”

Melanie stiffened, fighting to keep her temper in check. “So, you think I should just stand back and let her be victimized. Very nice, Ash. Sisterly.”

“Until she does something to help herself, yes, that’s exactly what I think you should do. Be there for her, sure. Offer advice. But stop trying to save her.”

“Maybe you can do that, but I can’t.”

Ashley sucked in a sharp breath. “Cut the sanctimonious act. The reason you’re so protective of her is because you feel guilty.”

“Guilty?” Melanie repeated, arching her eyebrows in exaggerated disbelief. “What do I have to feel guilty about?”

“Silly question, Mel. You feel guilty because Mia was Dad’s whipping girl.”

“That’s nonsense. Why should I—”

“Because even though the two of you looked exactly alike, he picked her to hurt.”

Feeling her sister’s words like a blow, Melanie took an involuntary step backward, then swung away from her sister. Legs shaking, she crossed to the door to the family room, listened for Casey, then carefully eased the door three-quarters of the way shut. “That wasn’t my fault,” she said finally, heavily. “It was Father’s. I have no reason to feel guilty over it.”

“Of course not. But you do. You’re still trying to make up to her for you being the golden child.”

“You don’t understand. You’ve never understood.”

Ashley’s mouth thinned. “Because I was never a member of your little twin’s club. Right? Not Ashley, the one who was different.”

“Mia and I don’t have a club and we’ve never excluded you, Ash.”

“Oh, please.” Her voice thickened. “I was the third sister. The third wheel. I still am.”

Melanie made a sound of frustration. “You make me crazy when you’re like this.”

Ashley took a step toward her, then stopped. “Has it ever occurred to you that it’s because I’m different that I see so clearly? You, Mia, Dad … everything?”

“Mia needs me. She’s more sensitive than either of us. More vulnerable. That’s why Dad singled her out, he knew she wouldn’t fight back. And that’s why I had to stop him.”

Ashley opened her mouth to respond, but the phone rang, cutting her off. Melanie answered. “Oh, hello, Stan.”

Ashley made a face and grabbed her purse. “I should go.”

“Stan, could you hold a moment?” She put her hand over the mouthpiece. “Please stay.”

Ashley shook her head, her expression—for one fleeting moment—lost. “I’ll call.”

Melanie held a hand out, regretting their argument. “Coffee on Friday?”

“I’ll try. No promises.”

“I love you.”

Ashley smiled. “Ditto, kiddo.” She started out the door, then stopped and looked back, her expression wicked. “Tell the prick I said hello and to burn in hell.”

Melanie watched her go, then turned her attention back to the phone. “What can I do for you, Stan?”

“Which one of your sisters is there?” Stan asked, ignoring her question. “Wimpy or bitchy?”

Melanie dismissed his barb. “Ashley was. She just left. She asked me to tell you hello.”

“I’ll bet. More like, to burn in hell.”

Melanie choked on a laugh. “What do you want, Stan?”

“That thing today, the murder, were you involved?”

“Involved?” she repeated, purposely playing dumb.

He made a sound of annoyance. “With the investigation. Are you involved?”

“The crime occurred in Whistlestop. Yes, I’m involved in the investigation.” She smiled to herself, aware of his ire. “But as I’m sure you can understand, I’m not at liberty to discuss the details.”

He swore. “I couldn’t care less about the details. I don’t want my wife having anything to do with—”

“Ex-wife,” she corrected. “You’re Shelley’s problem now, thank God. You haven’t forgotten about her, have you?”

“Cut the crap, Melanie. Of course I haven’t forgotten about Shelley.”

“And as your ex,” she went on, “you have absolutely no say in my life. None. What I do is my business. Only mine. Got that?”

“Except when what you do is potentially harmful to my son.”

“Our son is fine. Happy, healthy and loved. My involvement in a murder investigation is no more harmful to him than your legal wranglings are.”

“That’s where our opinions differ.”

She laughed without humor. “Our opinions differ on everything, Stan. If there’s nothing else, it’s late and I’m hungry and tired.”

“Oh, but there is. We need to talk about the future, Melanie. Casey’s future.” He paused for a moment, then went on. “He’s starting real school next year.”

She glanced at her watch, then longingly at her salad. “I’m aware of that, Stan.”

“Then you’re also aware that I live in the city’s best school district?”

It took a second for his words to sink in. As they did, a flicker of fear burst to life inside her. She tamped it down. He couldn’t mean what she thought he did—she was jumping to conclusions, overreacting. After all, they had been divorced three years, and in that time Stan had seemed more than satisfied to be an every-other-weekend father.

“The best?” she countered. “By whose standards? The schools in my district are highly rated. Not as fancy, maybe, but—”

“Come on, Melanie,” he said softly and patiently, as if he were speaking to a willful child, “don’t you think it’s time for us to set our personal needs aside and ask ourselves what’s best for Casey.”

“You mean who’s best for him, don’t you?” “Maybe I do.”

She squeezed her eyes shut and counted to ten. She was living the nightmare that had dogged her the entire first year of her divorce—that Stan was going to try to take custody away from her.

She gripped the receiver so tightly her fingers went numb. “I already know who’s best for him. Me. I’m his mother, Stan.”

“And I’m his father. I can offer him a stable, two-parent home in one of Charlotte’s finest communities. Which, by the way, is gated for security.”

“Let’s not forget a swimming pool, tennis lessons and lunches at the club,” she said sarcastically. “And maybe while you’re at it, you should sweeten the pot with a yearly trip to Europe?”

“Those things are important.”

“What’s more important than love, Stan? Than constancy? He’s been with me since the beginning, a change now would confuse him. Besides, all his friends from preschool—”

“Kids adjust.”

He said it so casually, so carelessly. This was Casey’s life they were talking about. His feelings. That the man could blow them off so easily made her blood boil. “You son-of-a-bitch,” she whispered, voice shaking. “All you care about is yourself.”

“That’s your opinion.” “I won’t let you do this.” “You can’t stop me.” “Mom?”

She looked over to find Casey in the doorway, eyes wide with alarm. The phone must have awakened him—if he’d ever fallen asleep. She pulled herself together and smiled reassuringly at him. “I’ll be off in just a second, honey. Crawl back into bed and I’ll come snuggle with you. Okay?”

Casey hesitated a moment, then did as she asked. She returned her attention to her ex-husband. “It’s inappropriate for us to have this conversation right now. I’ll have to get back to you.”

“This isn’t going to go away, Melanie. I intend to sue you for custody of our son. And I intend to win.”